Ten Days More
by Fixomnia Scribble
Summary: Concerning the next ten days of Jamie and Eddie's engagement, including the Season 9 premiere. Meaning May 13th to October 1st. I don't make the rules. Also, guys? THIS IS M TERRITORY. Just so you know.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N We are now in Hiatus Standard Time, which means that Monday, September 24 is in fact the day after Sunday, May 13. Just…go with it._

* * *

September 24, 2018: Monday morning  
6:05 a.m.

It's not his alarm that wakes him up but a pleasant autumn chill along his skin as Eddie slips out of bed and pads to the bathroom. They ended up at her place after dinner, and over the course of the night they worked off their dinner as well as a shared midnight slice of leftover chocolate cake in a most satisfactory manner. Twice. Three or four times, for Eddie, he hopes.

He smiles to himself and rolls onto his back. He can still taste her on his lips, and a trace of chocolate. It's only been ten days since they became lovers, and they have years of lost time to make up for. He's amazed they're not half dead of exhaustion and sore as hell, frankly, but if anything they're lit from within, incandescent, insatiable.

It's also been ten very intense and unusual days. He'd give damn near anything to stay in bed with her all day, curled up in their own world, far away from contract killers and curious families.

He nearly drifts off again, holding onto that pleasant image, but they've got to be out the door in forty minutes if they're going to make roll call. He pushes himself up on the heels of his hands, scrubs a palm over his face, and then he hears the shower start.

He's at the bathroom door in under ten seconds. "Eddie?"

"Get in here," she calls, from under the spray.

He does. And for fifteen precious minutes the world falls away. Morning love, before the world closes in.

The look in her eyes makes him feel a hundred things at once as he tilts her chin up to kiss her. Her mouth is greedy and teasing by turns, and when she slides down his body like the warm water itself, he's gone. All he can do is lean back against the tiles and brace his feet against the edge of the tub and feel, and listen to the groans she's pulling from under his ribs. She's licking and tasting and finding out what he likes, and there's something so damn sweet and sexy about this stage of the getting-to-know-you that just guts him.

He's rigid and hot in her hand as she wraps her fingers around his dick, holding onto his hip with the other. Her pink tongue swirls over the head and under the ridge, before she sucks the whole of his cockhead in her mouth, and he tries to hold still and not thrust, but it's so good. His body remembers the newness of sliding inside her. He craves it all over again. It's only been a few hours, but he wants her so badly he's gasping with it as she sucks him as deep as she can, her hand sliding back around his ass to hold on. She lets out a moan herself, and he opens his eyes to see her there on her splayed knees, one hand sliding down between her legs as the other pumps him just a little harder.

"Eddie – _fuck_ – you're so…"

She moans again, brokenly, and lets him slip from her mouth. Her hand strokes him just a little lighter as she catches up to him. He knows what that feels like, under her busy fingers. Her soft slick heat, the vanilla headrush of the scent and the taste of her, everything he used to only imagine alone in the dark and – _God, he needs it._

His fingers sweeping the wet strands from her face make her look up, and she gets to her feet, her hand still working him slowly. Her eyes drift to his mouth, hungry and dark. He strokes under her chin, leans down to kiss her, and his fingers keep going, down over her rosy plump breast, the flare of her hipbone. She hums against his lips and rests her foot on the side of the tub, an excited little rush of breath escaping. This is becoming a familiar thing.

It's not long before his fingers are seeking out her clenching depths, flickering and stroking, his thumb at the edge of her clit. Oh, it's too good, and it works for her in seconds. Her moans pick up to stuttering gasps, and she leans into him. She's working his cock almost without thinking, in time with her own rhythm, and fuck, if they'd known it would be like _this_ , all the times they've breathlessly baited each other over the years…because the way her whole being reaches for release and tumbles over the edge with him like this is…

The waves rise up and hit them both, shuddering sharp pleasure convulsing through them in their wake.

He's still clearing his vision and catching his breath when she giggles sleepily against his chest. She grins up at him, and he falls headlong in love with her all over again. She seems to read it in his eyes, because she gets quiet and dreamy, and loops her arms around his neck.

"Well, hey," he rumbles in her ear, as his arms slide around her warm body. "Good morning."

"G'morning," she murmurs, and rests against him. Then, with a sigh, "C'mon. Actual shower time."

"I need a nap, after that," he says, dropping his forehead on her shoulder. She pats his back sympathetically for a moment, and then pats his bottom with a saucy grin and reaches around him for the shampoo.

"I'm gonna smell like you usually do," he says, as they get to work, "Whole house of investigators isn't gonna miss that."

"Not the first time," she reminds him. "How many long-time partners haven't grabbed showers at each other's places? Better than going in just smelling like sex all over."

"Is it really, though?" he asks philosophically, and she cracks up.

It's a perfect start to what will probably be a difficult Monday, what with having to tiptoe around their relationship at work again, and both of them having counselling and debriefing sessions in the afternoon. It's mandatory after any shooting. They gave their initial reports right afterwards on Friday, and today they'll sit with their Union reps and talk through the scene again, and then talk about their reactions and coping tools with the unit psychologist, Dr. Clarke.

He understands why, and that it's both crucial and good for them, but he still hates being picked apart. His mind is his own personal space, where nobody can find him, and very few can hope to compete with him. He's going to have to lie to a whole lot of people he respects, since he can't ask them to keep his secrets.

So starting off the day with Eddie, remembering what's important and what they're working towards, is a gift. It helps him stave off the irritation and stress that he doesn't want her to feel or take at all personally, since it's his father getting on his nerves more than anything. He's not even cranky with Erin and Danny, even though they ganged up and convinced him and Eddie to put off their lightning-quick wedding plans.

"Just be engaged for a while and settle into it. It's a very different state of being than dating, or being partners, or however you want to frame it," Erin had said, as they finished cleaning up in the kitchen. "Please believe me, I want to see you two married. But I also want to you stay that way, and happily. There's no rush. I had a rush wedding, so yeah, I'm on the cautious side."

Danny, surprisingly, had settled the question, with some wisdom from his own long marriage. "You know, I knew I wanted to marry Linda right from the get-go. I think I asked her first when we were like seventeen or something. Her making us wait till after my first tour, and after she was done college – that's where we built up everything that kept us going strong after. People used to ask us how we stayed so in love for so long, pair of personalities like us. But we had all that time to plan ahead how we wanted to deal with things, and why. Not just the awful crap and the totally unromantic crap, but the amazing stuff as well. How to deal with having absolutely no secrets from each other, like, _forever_. Even our own bullshit. And because it didn't freak us out, we had time to remember why we wanted to do all that with each other."

"That's pretty much it," Eddie had replied. "That's kinda what we've always done."

Jamie had nodded, feeling the confident pressure of Eddie's hand in his, but Danny squinted dubiously and tilted his head back and forth, flicking the dish towel smooth before draping it over the oven door handle to air.

"Maybe so," he said, "but as work partners. Not as broke _mortgage_ partners with doctor bills. Not as Mom and Dad, who're totally, and I mean, _beyond_ exhausted with no time to talk things out."

And there's no way they can respond to that.

His father is a different story. Everything feels so _conditional_. It always has. And Jamie knows it goes back to his earliest childhood memories. Lessons of duty and responsibility, as if they were some royal family being groomed for some future greatness. Expectations placed so much higher on the four of them than on any of their friends. And Jamie, the baby, always so sensitive but also feeling like he had to do better than the others, just to stop them treating him as the token baby, in that hothouse of overachievers and egos. Being the best was how to win the approval of his father and his grandfather.

Which is why his father still has no idea that he sat the Sergeant's Exam. He'll present that as another _fait accompli_ , later. On his own terms.

Apparently Frank hadn't even looked at the list of applicants. Jamie's still sore about that. Frank knew that Eddie had put her name in. He hadn't even mentioned it at dinner yesterday. Did his father not believe that she would get through? Didn't he realize that Eddie's promotion would also mean the end of their partnership, and that they were looking beyond it? So far, all the old man had done was throw a wet blanket over the idea of their getting married, as if a pair of cops in love threatened the natural order of things. And that Jamie is continuing to disappoint him with his selfish antics.

 _He can stew in it_ , thinks Jamie.

It's unkind, Jamie knows, but he's pissed off enough that he wonders if his father even thinks Eddie is good enough for his son. _Saving my life ought to have fixed that_ , he thinks bitterly. Frank barely asked after her, after it happened. He called to check up on them, and wanted to see Jamie, but he probably had no idea that nobody else was going to check up on Eddie.

He knows his father has issues of his own. Is it expecting too much of him to be a better dad, when he's about as model a Commissioner and father-figure to everyone else as it's possible to be?

"Partner, you good?" Eddie breaks into his mental rant, as they move through their morning routines and pack up for the shift. He realizes he hasn't said much since they left the shower.

"Mostly good." He leans over and kisses her. "Gonna be a long day. I am so glad you're here."

"Copy that."

* * *

September 24, 2018: Monday morning  
7:22 a.m.

"So," Kara begins in a bright undertone as Jones and Farakh finally leave them alone in the Women's Change Room. "What's our boy all about? Leather or lace? I'm betting lace out loud but leather in bed. Ooh. Buzzy things? _Tickling_?"

"Blue serge," Eddie says firmly, to shut her up. Sitting on the bench in her uniform pants and dark grey armor-liner tee-shirt, she finishes tying her bootlace with a sharp tug, and reaches for her vest.

She slides her arms through her new Kevlar, which hasn't yet gotten comfy and ratty under the arms and molded snug like a turtle shell over her natural shape, and zips it up. As on every morning, she gives it a ritualistic hard jab over the heart with her fist, as if it's a safety check. It sets the tone for the day. _Good to go. Come at me._

Kara makes a wry face but then does a double take. "Uniform kink?" she asks. "Really? In that family?"

"Oh, fuck off. I'll tell you _almost_ anything, but not that. Not here." And she's not going to gossip with Kara about the utter delights of unpeeling Jamie, layers of clothing and layers of reserve, to the beating heart of the man and the things he'll only confess when she's got him laid out and writhing and panting under her hands, her mouth…

And speaking of layers, she's running late. She quickly buttons her uniform blouse, front and cuffs, and clips on her tie. No duty belt this morning.

Kara holds out her dress jacket with a formal flourish as if she's valeting her, and Eddie smiles and stands, turning around.

"You don't have to _tell me_ anything," Kara points out reasonably, slipping the jacket up over Eddie's arms and brushing a speck of lint off the back. "All I gotta do is go down the list and watch your face. And hey, _speaking_ of going down - "

"Walsh," Eddie says patiently, "I have an actual award to get, in front of actual people, so can you please fuck off and not put things in my head?"

Kara grins. "Oh, I got like three years of backlog to get through. And I am _so fucking proud_ of you." She gives Eddie's shoulder a quick squeeze from behind, before stepping back and turning her around to assess her overall look. "Breathe. Drop the shoulders. How you holding up? With the shooting, I mean."

"Doing okay, actually," Eddie says, patting for any stray loops of hair sticking out of her bun. She grabs her cap from its hook in the door of her locker and settles it on top.

"Bullshit. Beers later."

"Beers later."

Eddie's afternoon is likely to be fully taken up with her mandatory Union and EAP meetings with the rep, Renzulli, and the police shrink, discussing her shooting of Dante. She's not looking forward to it. As kind and competent a psychologist as Wendy Clarke is, especially being an ex-cop herself, Eddie loathes feeling being placed under the microscope like that. It was a good hit, an appropriate action, and it saved Jamie's life.

But cops are very human creatures, and not all of them have the experience and the emotional tools to deal with intense and tragic human shit, including the taking of other human lives by choice to save others. The idea of the ideal officer as entirely cold and policy-quoting and detached from these decisions is false. More than a few cop suicides have occurred as a result of that assumption, and the divorces and alcoholism and domestic violence in cop households is an unconscionably preventable cancer within the force.

Hence people like Dr. Clarke, whose mission is to keep as many of them as emotionally aware as she can herd into her office. Dr. Clarke also gets to decide if Eddie gets her guns back.

She feels horribly naked without them. So does Jamie.

Which is all Eddie can think about as Capt Hollis, as the highest ranking officer in the building at the time, calls her up from the ranks at the morning roll-call, and awards her the medal of Excellent Police Service. He does seem to be trying to make some amends. Maybe he realized he really was being a jackass. Maybe he just knows he could have come off badly if they'd laid a complaint about it.

"…a testament to the strength of their long partnership, their experience in serving public safety, and their ability to make the hardest of decisions in a moment of extreme threat…"

"…an individual responsible for multiple brazen daylight killings in public…"

There are a couple of Ident photogs taking shots for the archives. As Hollis presents her with the case with her new bar in it, she gives him a genuine smile, opens the case and turns a little for the cameras. Then there is some slightly awkward handshaking along a short line of superior officers, who all murmur some variation of "Well done, yes, good job." When she gets to Tony Renzulli, he gives her a solid grip and looks her right in the eyes and says, "Thanks, Eddie."

Then she goes back to her place and stands beside Jamie, who has been holding her up with his eyes the whole time. They share the briefest of glances, and her heart thrums under her armor.

She'd thought the meeting with the Union rep would take an age, but given the context of the case and the immediate threat to Jamie and to innocent passers-by, all they want is her more considered, thoughtful report of the event. Her memories are close enough to the report she gave three days ago, while she was pretty much in a state of shock right after the event. The evidence from bystanders and from their cruiser's front-facing dash cam match most of the details she gives.

There's some mild questioning about the appropriateness of hugging her partner at a scene. Given that he came within literal inches of being killed, and that Dante is the second man she's killed in the commission of her service, they're happy enough to let it go. Especially with the new bar on her shield rack, which she's topped with a US Flag bar in the empty spot.

The EAP goes well enough. Dr. Clarke is satisfied, though she does, unofficially, invite Eddie to come back anytime she feels like she's having unexpected or unusual reactions to anything.

Eddie repeats what Jamie told her once, about not looking for big answers in moments of major crisis, but get through one moment at a time. Dr. Clarke likes that. She has some lovely things to say about their partnership, and Eddie wishes she could come clean and tell her everything.

She adds two promises to her mental list. She will visit Dr. Clarke again, whether she feels herself getting wobbly or not. And she will tell Dr. Clarke about her and Jamie's actual relationship as soon as she can. Because this is a woman who understands both sides, and who might be of use to other partners trying to navigate that path in future.

Dr. Clarke asks if her father knows about the shooting, and Eddie explains that Armin isn't doing so well mentally and would only get upset. She doesn't want to call her mother, but she supposes she should. Her mother doesn't like to hear about the dangers inherent in the job, preferring to think of Eddie as a friendly school-visit sort of police officers.

"It sounds like your partner and Officer Walsh are really your primary relationships. Would that be fair to say?"

"I think so. Yes. I mean, I do have plenty of friends, but they're the two that – you know, they'd be the core of my friend group, if we weren't cops."

"I might suggest that you do put in some homework in considering how you want to build up those relationships, because once you become a Sergeant, they're going to change, too. Have you and Officer Reagan discussed how you want to navigate the closure of your partnership? You might want to talk about how that'll look. Not all cops get that opportunity, but just get reassigned."

"We have," Eddie says blithely. _Understatement_ , she thinks. "We'll always be in each other's lives. We've always dealt with things, I guess, from the point of 'what do we want to look back on from today and be proud of doing?' We do rely on each other for that, as much as anything. That'll never change."

Dr. Clarke pauses. "You know," she says, "You save many lives and stopped a killing. I know you know that. But it's okay to be proud of saving Jamie's life. It's okay if that's what your handle on it is."

Well, thinks Eddie, maybe she did need a good cry.

And it sort of explains why Frank couldn't immediately call up and say, _thank you for saving my son._ That's not the hat he's allowed to wear, not often.

Jamie hasn't said so, but she knows he was stung by that. She wasn't expecting anything from the PC for doing her job, especially not after flaunting their relationship under his nose. Someone recommended her for the service award, though, and she suspects it was Frank.

She doesn't get into any of this with Wendy Clarke. It's rare enough for her to sit with a friendly older female and feel safe enough to get weepy.

Twenty minutes later, she leaves with her shoulders much less hiked up, and a piece of paper stating she can get her guns back.

* * *

September 24, 2018: Monday morning  
10:09 a.m.

Garrett's voice is always soothing – it's one of the reasons he's good at his job, and why his sound bites are often replayed in his own voice on the news. As with the news, however, sometimes his smooth tones make him easier to block out. Since Sid and Abby haven't said anything for the last few minutes, Frank's attention is wandering.

"Anyone home?" Garrett asks, eventually.

Frank takes a moment to think through how he wants to set up the next exchange. He wants their true reactions, without the color of how he might want them to respond. So he gives them the bare facts, as neutrally as can.

"My son Jamie, and his partner Eddie, got engaged over the weekend," he tells them. The spontaneous congratulations that arise reassure him that these three, at least, were not aware of the goings-on under his roof. He likes to think _someone_ would have told him that the obvious feelings between the kids were manifesting outside of their work partnership, but then he wouldn't want to be the one who had to do that. It's not his business at all, as Jamie's dad, and very much his business, as the final boss over each of them and the arbiter of judgement calls over the entire NYPD.

"And it is their plan to still keep riding together as partners," he finishes.

"Oh," says Abby. She sounds somewhat impressed.

Sid is less impressed, and says bluntly: "Boy, that's a problem."

"It is?" Frank asks mildly.

"Why?" asks Garrett, catching on instantly. It's always interesting to listen to Sid and Garrett play against each other, and Garrett knows it.

"Why? A million good reasons."

Eventually, Frank asks Sid to draw up Interim Order against partners remaining partners while romantically involved, in lieu of a formal regulation. It's reasonable, it's prudent, and it doesn't mean he actually has to sign it.

Abby hasn't given him a look like than in a very long time.

He'd like to ask her advice privately, but he doesn't quite know how. He knows that she and her husband made sure they never even worked out of the same house, before their marriage, and he's not sure what effect that had on them. He also doesn't want to appear to be asking for a sympathetic female opinion, as old-fashioned as that makes him sound.

Truth is, he's the one having difficulty separating work and family life, not the kids. Three days ago he almost lost another son. Only Eddie's spidey-senses and quick, deadly accurate actions saved them all that grief. He'd thought he was over the acute stage of grieving for Joe, but perhaps that's something that never really ends, for a parent. Especially a parent whose job it was to make sure that the kind of men who killed Joe were stopped before they even began.

Joe died on his watch. He's not sure how he or any of them would survive Jamie dying on his watch, because of an old case that he himself was responsible for.

Eddie, at least, should have her new service bar by now. That was one call he was happy to make on her behalf, even if he couldn't find the words to thank her. There was no one else he would rather have riding with Jamie. But for everyone's sakes, including theirs, they should not be riding together. The thought of one of them going down at a scene, leaving the other behind…or both of them at once…

It has nothing to do with sound judgement, in this case, and everything to do with the very real bonds of love and loyalty that make every day worth getting up for. It's also true that if he lets them go ahead with this, then others will come crowding in the door to demand the same chance, and very few couples can handle themselves and the realities of the job like Jamie and Eddie can.

Make that _Sergeant_ Janko.

Eddie's ambitious and bright, and Frank has no doubt she'll clear the minimum grade on the promotion exam with ease. The kids are really just looking to buy themselves some time, he thinks, and make backup plans for the scant possibility of her not passing. Eddie is, after all, going up against some ten- and twelve-year veterans, to her five years of service. Some of the candidates have taken the exam before, and it's graded by rank as well as score. At least the kids are trying to do the right thing and be honest, but they've also got to face up to reality: some good ideas are very bad for some people, so they can't be permitted as policy. At all. Even as a reasonable, temporary measure.

Can they?

Abby is still giving him that look.

He dismisses them all with thanks for their input.


	2. Chapter 2

September 25th, 2018: Tuesday afternoon  
2:32 pm

Eddie's a little unhinged with Justin, their arson suspect, he thinks, though she's certainly within the parameters of the angry/reasonable cop act they sometimes do. She's also using it as an emotional pressure valve. Something that hadn't occurred to him that he himself might need, until he found himself hauling off on the fire guys, earlier, and Eddie hauling him off again.

He should be fine. Dr. Clarke was happy enough with him, though she gave him her usual invitation to come and talk over his stuff any time. But he wasn't the one who killed a guy, after all. No, no, just the guy who had a gun pointed between his eyes from fourteen inches away, who looked into the eyes of his assassin, and who should be dead right now. He'd gone through all kinds of crazy feelings after that, from wobbly relief to raw sexual release and a surge of gratitude for being alive, to a kind of greyed-out endorphin downer as he and Eddie both regained their balance.

And then they got engaged, and had every intention of marrying in 48 hours. Okay, maybe trying to take some sort of control over their lives and establish a new normal on their own terms was part of a post-traumatic reaction.

Maybe all this pent up blaming his father for everything since childhood isn't really about Frank. They tend to overlook the impact of close calls, in their line of work. Maybe Dr. Clarke is onto something with her invitations.

Eddie smelling of smoke gets under his skin a little, as they stand interrogating young Justin in the interview room. He feels silly for having asked her (no, he admits, he _told_ her) to wait on the sidewalk. The protective instinct that came hulking out of him at the sight of her with baby Marisa in her arms isn't going away, and it's something he's going to have to deal with. It's her job he was interfering in, and she isn't even singed. Nothing another shower and her usual dry cleaner can't fix.

He goes for a walk to clear his head, after Justin is placed in cells, and Eddie goes off for a quick cleanup. She'd have to change every article of clothing and shower twice to get rid of the smell completely, and there's no time for that, so for now she just rinses the worst out of her hair and skin, and changes her shirt.

He brings her back a large mocha. She thanks him, her eyes dancing, but explains that it won't taste good with the smoky smell she's still covered in.

"Like s'mores," he suggests. She shakes her head.

"Maybe if it was plain old woodsmoke. Not electrical fire and tar-paper as well."

"You were amazing," he tells her, honestly, "And I know I'm not the only one who's glad you ignored me about staying outside." She understands the mocha then, and nods slowly.

"Team effort. What we do best."

She carries her drink to the break room fridge to have cold later on, and then kisses him, sweetly and silently, both of them listening for footsteps passing by.

He slides his hand around the back of her neck, and rests his forehead on the top of her head for a moment.

Huh. Yesterday they were concerned that smelling the same might give them away. Today they both smell of smoke and nobody seems to notice except to make sure they're okay.

Funny sort of business they're in.

Eddie's hand grips his waist just a second longer, and then she pushes herself away.

"Talk later?" he murmurs.

If they're both still a bit of a reactionary mess, at least they can be a conscious mess and figure out what's useful and what isn't. This, he thinks, is probably part of what Danny was trying to explain. The power of not being bowled over by things, or at least, knowing what to expect and watch out for in each other, as spouses, not as police partners.

"Fight night," she reminds him. "Class ends at seven. I could bring takeout over after?"

"God, yes."

He makes a plan to stock up on some of the shampoo and things she likes, before she gets there. She keeps a supply in her emergency go-bag, but they're looking at a period of drifting between apartments at least for the foreseeable future, and he wants her to feel properly at home.

It's not a ring, but it's a statement. They'll work on the rest later. They're a work in progress.

His plans get derailed by another invitation – this time, one that can't be politely ignored. Detective Baker, on behalf of his father.

* * *

September 25th, 2018: Tuesday evening  
5:00 sharp

He's not sure which is worse, the look that's back in Abby's eyes with redoubled intensity, or the fact that Jamie stands and _salutes him_ until he responds. Or that Abby watches the whole thing, and keeps the look going until she closes the door.

Jamie couldn't have said more clearly in words that if his father is going to be such a failure as a father, he's only going to deal with him as a superior officer. With impeccable correctness, too. Jamie learned the power of maintaining a cool and calm exterior at a very young age, as the youngest of a heap of highly demanding, highly different siblings, and parents with high expectations and not much time for sorting out which one had actually started the latest war.

He trained the kid, after all. He's the only one to blame, for a lot of things.

Jamie seems to have come prepared for a peace parley, anyway, and to start from the beginning, because he starts off easily enough, "Look, I know you have reservations about me riding with Eddie."

"A little more than reservations."

There's so much he wants to explain that he's at a genuine loss where to begin. If he's angry with Jamie at all, it's only because he doesn't like the position Jamie's put him in. Jamie and Danny are the only two cops in the entire NYPD that could make such a demand, and they're the only two that Frank absolutely cannot do favors for.

He tries to keep things on Jamie's terms, for now, and reach him halfway. Hopefully the words will come to him for the rest. They've never been good at direct emotional contact, not without Mary sitting with them, or later, Linda. And Jamie doesn't need the extra weight on his shoulders of trying to be the best cop he can be, while never risking himself enough to place himself in actual danger, just for his old man's sake.

It's not until he reminds Jamie that Captain Hollis needs to be informed, as his CO, that Jamie glibly responds that he hasn't had the opportunity. That's the first whiff of bullshit in an otherwise very civil and clear conversation. It may be true – Hollis may be hiding out, not wanting to deal with either of them in light of his past insinuations and Eddie's recognition – but surely the e-mail system still works. They could request a meeting. They could have told Renzulli, and asked him to pass a message to Hollis.

Except they don't want to get Tony Renzulli in trouble for not splitting up their partnership years ago, and they don't want to give Hollis the satisfaction of knowing he was more or less on the right page, even though his insinuations were out of line and technically incorrect at the time.

Frank rolls his eyes mentally. Of all the reasons to ban romantically attached cops from serving as partners, this kind of gossip and intrigue is near the top of the list, too.

"I promise you, me riding with Eddie won't affect my performance on the job."

"Then why'd you get into it with the firefighter?"

He begins to lose patience with Jamie's prepared responses. The kid's lawyering him around now, right down to insisting that he's not, even as he uses regulations to back himself up, and splits hairs over "fiancée" and "partner".

Frank finally brings out the big guns, painting a picture of Jamie and Eddie both going down at a scene, and what do they want him to do with their kids?

And that's when Jamie – quietly, politely – walks out on him, with a soft little laugh, as if he might have known the old man would try something like that.

It's not until later that night that Frank, cooled down now and into a second whiskey, remembers the partner that Jamie _couldn't_ save, and that Eddie very nearly went down not that long ago, and he feels physically sick with shame. He pushed Jamie off of the ground he knows best, and onto ground that only Frank has lived through. It's not fair, he knows. Jamie's experienced plenty of deaths close to him, and it was terrible of Frank to trump that with the fact that he's lost both spouse and child, neither of which Jamie has even had.

Mary would probably not be speaking to him on a night like this, he thinks.

* * *

September 30th, 2018: Sunday evening  
5:12 pm

He'd warned her there might be some tension, but it's _awful_.

Springing herself upon them as an unexpected dinner guest and a future in-law was downright normal compared to this. They'd arrived just in time to drop their dessert off in the kitchen and sit down, with no pre-dinner chat over wine, and barely time to even say hello. The family had said Grace in a garbled rush, not in the least like the thoughtful way they'd injected meaning and gratitude into the words last week.

There's a very weird interlude of napkin-shaking and salt passing, and nobody says a word. Nobody asks after anyone else, or seems to notice she's feeling way out of her depth, even Jamie.

It's Sean who seems to remind everyone she's new, offering her the cornbread, and Frank wakes up and offers her an actual welcome.

"Thank you, Commissioner," she smiles at him in relief.

"Frank," he reminds her.

"Or Dad," Erin adds, a little wistfully, but still with a big-sisterly poke, recalling Eddie's experimental dropping of the title last week. This, Eddie thinks, she can handle. Maybe everyone just needs a hot meal inside and a chance to clear the air a little. It seems to be so, because everyone starts spinning the usual sort of chatter that people do when trying to learn something about each other.

"Just don't use your phone or iPad at the table," Nicky advises.

"Or curse. They hate it when you curse," Sean adds.

She'd laugh and make a crack about being adopted already, but there's something in the kids' voices that makes it sound like an actual warning. She's feeling all out of place again when Danny cuts the kids off.

So it's back to the standard script about lovely meals and all, and then the sparring begins.

If it's not Danny levelling spears at his hapless sister for doing her job and saving their asses from being laughed out of court or hauled up to IAB, it's Jamie prodding his father about blaming him for an imaginary unwritten wrongdoing when no wrong has been done by anyone. Erin, exhausted, merely brushes Danny's barbs away with a minimum of words. Henry asks for civility.

It's not as if they're using her as an audience, and projecting their grievances at her – they're so deeply immersed in that they're barely aware she's even there. Even Jamie. She tries to support him when she can, but it's so far over her head and packed with subtext that she doesn't know where to begin. She can't even call him out the way she usually would, not at a family dinner, and she ends up sounding just like her own mother when she says his name.

The kids, bless them, end up apologizing for their elders, which they shouldn't have to do. It seems to work for a few moments, with everyone suitably chastened.

She's just starting to breathe again when Danny gets a nightmare call about a mafia murder case, and blames Erin directly for another death as he leaves.

 _This cannot possibly be normal, even for a family of crime-fighters and prosecutors,_ she thinks. _Can it?_

Oh, God, what if it is? What is she walking into?

She tries to at least break the silence, not caring if it sounds inane. This time, not even Erin has the energy to answer her, and the kids look like they know better than to open their mouths.

If this was a crime scene and they were all suspects, or at least reluctant witnesses, she and Jamie would have the entire table singing in chorus in five minutes flat. But this is family, and it's personal.

Eddie pulls herself together and reminds herself that she's hardly inexperienced at dealing with cranky Reagans, one in particular. He had to learn his habits from somewhere. And she's not his best friend and kick-ass partner for nothin'. Taking a deep breath, she goes back to what is, in fact, a fantastic dinner that would be a tragedy to waste, and blithely pretends there's no tension at all. If they can't keep up a civil conversation, it won't be on her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Frank's eyes glimmering at her in amusement.

 _Well, that took long enough._

* * *

September 30th, 2018: Sunday evening  
8:38 pm

He'd warned her there might be some tension, but it's _awful_.

He's embarrassed by the behaviour Eddie saw, and he's still sore as hell at his father, and he needs to blow up, but not at Eddie. He just wants to get home, get Eddie settled and maybe go for a run to clear his head. When his mind packs up like this and he stops being able to sort out his thoughts, the only thing to do is hit the reset: exhaust himself physically and burn out the gunk. Eddie's seen him like this plenty of times, and knows where to look for him. He grudgingly loves it that she'll track him down and find him, even if she sometimes underbudgets how much time he needs. That's hardly on her.

If he can just get her home, kiss her good night, explain he needs some time, and then book it. Hit the speedbag at the night gym, or just run himself soggy. She'll understand.

It doesn't work.

"We need to think about not partnering together," she says, as if she's already decided.

He feels the hot spark take hold behind his eyes. "What?"

"It'll solve the problems with your dad. And – "

Placating his father is the last reason he'd want to do anything, just now. What the hell does she think the last two weeks have been all about? They were working together to make this happen, weren't they? Hold onto whatever time they have left to be partners at all?

He hears his own rising anger, and a note of churlish petulance that makes him furious with himself, too. "Eddie, you don't want to ride together anymore?"

"No! It's just your dad clearly has a problem with us riding together."

"You can't just cave every time you don't agree with someone in my family!"

It's hardly fair to yell at her for not getting up in the Commissioner's face at his own table, but that's sort of why he's furious in the first place. All his stored-up rage at his father has been swirling around all week, and just when it seemed like they were finally hearing each other, his dad went full asshole. Now Eddie's saying it wasn't even worth it.

"And you can't ignore it like this gonna go away! D'you really want to hide the fact that we're engaged from the department, and fight with your dad – just to ride together?"

Don't they? Wasn't that the plan? Just lay low, put off the wedding, wait till one or both of them got promoted, and deal with everything then? No harm, no foul, no asking anyone to pretend they didn't know?

Except they tried to do the right thing by his family, and not lie to them, and now it's a huge big deal just because he's a _fucking Reagan_.

"I thought that's what we both wanted," he says, making an effort to sound calm, though the worst of the wind is seeping out of his sails.

"I just want _you_."

Her quiet, sad little voice stops him in his tracks. He finally sees her face, and understands what she's trying to do. She's panicky and miserable about being the cause of a family rift at the outset of their relationship finally taking off. She's never known a family that isn't liable to disappear when they're needed most. She's trying to find a way to save everyone, but her top priority is Jamie, and keeping _their_ relationship intact, even if it means sacrificing her first plan. She's not the one sacrificing his pride – that's all his doing.

That's the look he's seen on his mother's face when she negotiated a family truce, and nobody knew what she'd compromised to make it happen. He's seen that look on his sister's face when her ex-husband was mouthing off about something, and she wasn't going to call him out in public or apologize for him, but had to think fast to find a solution to let him save face and get them out of the situation, fast.

He adds another promise to his list: _Get really fucking better at spotting emotional labor, really fucking fast, you jerk bastard._

He reaches for her hand and slows them down. At first she shakes her head and tugs against him, just wanting to get home. He thinks she's fighting tears down.

"Wait. Wait a sec. I'm being an ass and it's just about me and dad. Not you. Not us."

She slows down and comes to a halt beside him.

"Those times I disappear and go thrash everything out?" he begins. "This is one of those."

"You gonna head to the night gym?" she asks, trying to be understanding. It feels strange, coming from her. His partner Janko would simply glare at him and say, "Go do your workout and don't come back till you stop being a dick." And he, as her partner, could more or less tell her to save her own attitude for fight class or find them a suspect to chase. Or they could roll the cruiser windows up and yell themselves done, eventually circling around to whatever was really eating at them.

He wants both. He needs both. That's why Eddie trying to be all wife-y at the table was setting him off, too, though he's not sure what else he expected. They can't bring their usual raw, ribald partnership to dinner.

He shakes his head.

"No. I wanna be here with you. I'll go for a run or something later. You're way more important. Just, my head's overclocking and I know I gotta let off steam sometime soon. I'm – " he sighs and rubs the back of his head with his free hand. "I wish you hadn't seen all that at dinner. And I didn't mean that, the way it came out. I mean, it's true my dad's always gonna come down hard on his way of doing things, and I've had to learn to stand up to that, or I'll get steamrolled every time, but that's – that's just me. You and Dad'll find your own level. He does respect you."

Her hand slowly slides out of his grip and up his arm, to settle in the crook of his elbow as they start walking again.

"It's like he thinks we want to go on riding together forever. He knows that's not it, right?" she asks, a little steadier.

"I honestly have no idea. We nearly got to talking about it and he pulled out this fucking grenade about us both being taken out at a scene and him having to take care of our kids."

"He _did_ that?" Now it's Eddie's turn to get fired up. "Good lord."

"Tuesday. When he called me in to grill me about the thing with the fire guys. That's what it turned into instead."

Eddie thinks. "That's what's had you so touchy since then."

"Yeah."

"I wasn't saying anything about it 'cause I thought it might've been about the shooting. I know Dr. Clarke warned us we'd probably have different feelings about it every day for a while."

"I think it probably is, at the heart of it. Dad's always been Dad, and he doesn't usually get to me like this." He looks over. She's chewing on her lip in that way she doesn't realize till it's scraped raw. He kicks himself some more. "How're you doing? With all that?"

"Keeping going," she says, thoughtfully. "But every now and then I do catch myself flashing back. It's only been, what, a week and a bit? I think I might go talk to Clarke some more. So things don't have to come to a head."

"It was a big deal." He sees her starting to get a bit goosepimpled in the rapidly cooling night air, pulls her a little closer and wraps his arm around her bare shoulders. "But guess what. We're here. We won. We get to walk home together, just us, not hiding from anyone. Because the woman I love kicks ass, and what she did was awesome, and brave and heroic. And more patient with me than I deserve."

"All true." She cuddles in, and looks up with a smile for the first time all evening. He feels himself take a much needed deep breath. "He seriously talked about having to look after our kids?"

"He did. Not his finest moment. Not mine, either. I walked out on him."

"Don't blame you." They walk a few more paces, and then she says, very casually, "Erin thinks we'll be expecting a kid by next Easter."

He turns and looks at her. " _That's_ what she was saying about Easter? Last week after dinner?"

"Yup."

"Huh," he says. He's surprised Erin went there so fast, but then, who knows what counts as bonding between sisters-in-law? He can certainly imagine Erin and Linda whooping it up over being co-Aunts to each other's kids as soon as possible. Then: "Scarlett? Really?"

She throws him a look in return. "Not like O'Hara, more like the kick-ass superheroine."

"But I mean, can you ever really get away from the O'Hara, with a name like Scarlett? You gotta think ahead to the schoolyard."

"Okay, maybe as a middle name."

"Shannon Scarlett. Mm. Not quite."

"Grace Scarlett – oh, no, that's just not good."

"Alannah Scarlett."

They both slow their step and look at each other. They both feel it. What's between them has always had a life of its own, growing and learning and fighting for breath and every bit as demanding as each of them. And quite suddenly, some part of it has a name.

It's a physical jolt, and he finds himself a little envious, a little relieved and a whole lot in awe of her that she would put her body through all that for the sake of that little life. For him, as much as for her. Humbling isn't even the word for what that whole-bodied, whole-hearted agreement means to him.

He swallows hard. "What about a boy?"

"David," she says instantly, as if he should have known. He probably should have.

"David Janko-Reagan," he says, almost to himself. Again, with that physical thrill coursing through his stomach, his limbs. _This is real._

"Just Reagan," she says, surprising him.

"Sure?" he asks. "Thought you were bent on keeping yours. And God knows there are enough Reagans around."

"Yeah, I am, but Janko-Reagan?" she asks, "It's a lot, for a kid. You gotta think ahead to the schoolyard."

"Reagan-Janko?" he says experimentally. She hums thoughtfully.

"Definitely better, but still…Maybe Alannah Scarlett can add it as another middle name later if she wants."

"Maybe we could all be Reagan-Janko."

"What?" she laughs aloud.

"There's precedent. It's less out-there than it used to be. I even know a couple cops who added their wives' names to theirs. One took his wife's name completely."

"I remember that. But that was because nobody could spell or pronounce his name, anyway."

"Still precedent."

"Yeah, but for a Reagan?" Eddie looks up at him. He shrugs.

"Maybe. Just saying, I'm not ruling it out as an option. There's no regulation against it."

There's the glare. She pinches his side as they walk. "Ohh…watch it, Mister."

He kisses her crown. "I'm sorry I was an asshole." She looks up and he kisses her mouth, too, gentle and unhurried.

"We do take each other for granted as a dumping ground," she says by way of acceptance, "Which is usually okay. But sometimes not."

"Sometimes definitely not. Let me…make it up to you?"

 _Fight it, flee from it or fuck it: humans are so predictable,_ he thinks, a second later. But Eddie's apparently on the same page.

"Oh, you're gonna make it up to me," she murmurs back. Under the pretty summer dress and fussy clutch purse, his old partner Eddie is waiting, ready to give as good as she gets and then some. He's always loved that about her. He's always lusted after that, too, if he's honest, and she knows it.

"What do I gotta do?" he asks her, low. This might just be better than the gym.

"You," she says, "are going to let _me_ do to _you_. And then…"

Jesus Christ, if it isn't one of his most intense fantasies sprung to life. It's far more than he deserves, but Eddie's going to make him work for every second. "And then?"

"And then we'll see," she smiles serenely.

He gets them walking just a little faster to the train.

* * *

September 30…  
and sometime into October 1, 2018

It's not roleplay. It's Eddie, all Eddie, and she has been waiting for this for a long time.

She's got him stripped down to his trousers, laid out on her bed, and she's all but riding him, slow and tortuous, in the little white lacy bra and g-string she had on under her dinner dress all along. His pupils are blown, his mouth slack with the feel of her stroking fingertips, her soft hair and light kisses brushing over his skin. His hands are gathered into fists at his sides. If he moves, if he lifts a hand to touch her or reaches up to kiss her, she wins.

If she releases him, if she begs him to fuck her, he wins.

She's had a thousand fantasies of him under her hands, her body, but nothing in the world was ever like this. Jamie Reagan, all the latent strength of him, all that fine intellect and attention span, focussed only on her. How they're not naked and rutting like wild creatures already, after the emotional tension of the evening and the pent-up stress of the week is beyond her, but he's given her complete control, and she takes that seriously.

His chest is so warm, radiating heat, and her heart skitters at the feel of his own pulse, thumping away under her palm.

"You," she murmurs, fluttering the pads of her fingers over his sensitive nipples, and down the tautness of his belly, "Get to stay very still while I do this."

She traces around his navel and he jumps a little, but then her fingers keep going, sliding down to his belt. She pulls back the tab slowly and slides the buckle open. As her fingers work on button and zipper, she leans forward, kissing and tasting and teasing just above his waist, as she unzips. A groan cuts off in his throat as she stretches up to tease a nipple with the tip her tongue. His hips are bucking slightly under her already.

" _Very_ still," she reminds him. He curses and has to close his eyes briefly, but he doesn't want to miss a second of this, either.

"Up," she says, and he lifts up enough for her to drag his trousers down and off.

 _Oh, my,_ she thinks. Jamie in his boxers, nearly out of his head with arousal and rock-hard for her has been a long-running nighttime serial. Jamie out of his boxers is even better. She carefully slides them off as well, and takes a moment to enjoy the view. His eyes fall hungrily to her mouth, her breasts, and he licks his lips unconsciously. Her nipples rise as she thinks of that mouth tugging wetly at them. _Soon…soon._ She lets her eyes rove over him as well; his gleaming eyes, the slight sheen on his chest as it rises and falls, the smooth lines of his torso, and the fine arrow of hair pointing to the fine straight cock that's straining for her touch.

Bending over him, she kisses a slow, sweet line down the curve of one hip and then gently pins down his other hip as she breathes over his cock. He grunts and tenses with the effort of keeping still as she kisses up his the underside of his cock as well, and she swipes a pearl of pre-cum that leaks from the tip.

She slips one hand under his balls and wraps the other loosely around his cock, and slides up and down, once, twice, just enough to send him into a whole new level that gets him panting and muttering.

Still he doesn't reach for her.

"You get a reward," she tells him "But you have to watch."

"Uh huh," he breathes.

She slides off him and slips the scrap of lace down her legs and off the side of the bed somewhere, and then straddles him again, resting her slick heat right up against his balls. He drops his head back and curses, his fists clenching.

"Watch me," she whispers. Jesus, she's soaked. It's been so long since she did this in front of anyone she can't even remember. It's been such a forbidden territory for them, dangerous to even think about. "Watch me."

She slides her fingers down the sides of her breasts and then up over her peaked nipples through the lace, her mouth opening on a sharp bolt of pleasure. She does it again and again, pinching ever so slightly, and his cock pulses as he gasps with her. She wants to touch him so bad, wants to feel that hard pulse in her hand, the mindless arching of his hips under her. To know that she can bring him to the depth of release he needs.

 _Just a while longer_ , she tells herself.

She slides her fingers down, and down, and watches his eyes as she parts her lips for him. Rubs a slow finger up and down her slick opening, then two. Oh, fuck, she's so sensitive tonight, she nearly comes just from that light touch and the heat of his gaze.

"Fuck Eddie," he groans. Then, as she takes a steadying inhale and slides two fingers down and inside herself, as she rises up on her own hand and down again, he falls to incoherent growling.

Still furrowing deep inside, she manages to pant out, "D'you know – how many nights – I needed it to be _you_?"

"Fuck yes," he whispers harshly. His head is thrashing on the pillow, his hips tight and trembling under her, but still he won't let go.

She grits her teeth, she tries to hold out, but it bursts from her in a breathless plea as she topples forward against him and his arms come up to catch her. "Fuck me. Jesus, Jamie, _fuck me_. I need you so hard."

"Ah, God – " His mouth is merciless on hers, his tongue swirling deep as his big hands shoot up to dive through her hair, grab at her hip. He lifts her just enough to get a hand between them, angles the head of his cock just right, and she slides him all the way up inside in a rush. " _Fuck_ ," he gasps against her mouth, and thrusts home.

She's about to pull herself up and ride him properly, but he tugs her even closer, hooking a hand under her knee before rolling them both over, and oh, _holy shit,_ the man can fuck like there's no tomorrow. His hips slide between her thighs as her legs wrap high around his ribs. His hands come up to pin her wrists to the pillow, and it doesn't take more than a couple of experimental thrusts before he's taking her hard and deep, merciless and relentless. They're so far gone it's not going to last long, but time is meaningless. She's spinning up higher, crying out, riding the ragged crest of pleasure to its peak, and Jamie…Jamie's panting out her name, his body wracked with the intensity of it, and he does something with the circling of his hips that gets her clit just right, just right, not too hard but just soft wet pressure right there, and Jamie's shuddering and groaning against her neck, and _oh – God – it's – yes – just_ –

She's never come so close to actually screaming out her pleasure in her life.

"Who won?" he mumbles sleepily against the back of her shoulder, some time later.

"We did," she says.


	3. Chapter 3

October 1, 2018: Monday morning  
10:45 am

They get their letters with the mid-morning mail.

He watches her open hers first, across their desk in the bullpen, carefully slitting the heavy embossed envelope with the blade of her multi-tool. He's sure she passed, but there's no predicting her rank, which determines the order in which new Sergeant positions are offered.

Her eyes widen and she dances in her chair a little.

"Eighty-two. Not bad, I wanted more, but I'll take it."

"Nice! Especially for a fifth-year. What number are you?"

"Thirty-six in a field of two hundred and thirty nine," she says. "Again, not bad, but not super-great."

"What? That's not far off top-ten percent. You had to make up almost four points over a ten-year officer, with the seniority credit. And that's without the credit for your bar, 'cause you just got that. And I know some of the officers already wrote it before. I mean, even I first studied for it a few years ago."

Eddie's eyes narrow. "You haven't even opened yours."

"Pretty sure I passed. I know I passed. What else matters? We get an offer whenever we get an offer."

She throws him a look. "You are so full of shit, Reagan. What, were you waiting to see how I did first? In case I needed a hug or something?"

"No, no. Seriously. I spent decades completely hooked on the numbers game in school. Part of the reason I didn't take the test before was 'cause I knew I was falling into that again. You think I'm bad at vanishing into my head now, you should've seen me then."

"You want me to open it?" she asks.

He takes a breath, turning the envelope over in his hands, and passes it over the desk. "Yeah, go ahead."

She slits the envelope and pulls out the printed sheet.

"Huh. Mine didn't have a note with…holy shit, Jamie."

"What?"

She looks up at him in wide-eyed delight.

"You came first."

"No, really, what – "

" _You came first_." She tossed the notice and the handwritten note of congratulations from the department of City-wide Administration Services across the table. "Tell _that_ to your Dad, why don't you?"

"Holy shit."

He picks up the results sheet and reads _Reagan Jameson M., 60528: Awarded Marks: 216/225, Final Adjusted Score: 96%. Rank Order: 1_

His heart his pounding away and he feels a flush rising, and he knows he's as addicted to that rush as he ever was. _I did it. I did it. I did it._

He'll get to mentor young cops, something he's always enjoyed and is damn good at.

He'll be able to afford to give Eddie whatever wedding she wants, he thinks. And as soon as she gets her own promotion, and they've condensed their two apartments into one, they can even start talking realistically about a real honeymoon somewhere. Or a down payment on a four-bedroom house somewhere within reach, instead.

He'll be in a safer job, most of the time, with a fixed schedule that the inhabitants of those bedrooms can rely on, whether it's days or nights. So will Eddie, soon.

 _Holy shit._

 _I'm gonna outrank Danny._

 _I did it._

He looks across the desk, still speechless.

"You did it," says Eddie, softly. "We did it. I gotta call my Mom. She'll be over the moon. Wait. Can we both Skype her tonight, and tell her everything?"

"We totally can."

It's a good thing it's mid-morning and nearly empty, everyone out on patrols, because the eyes they're making at each other would fool precisely no one. He wants to grab her and kiss her into a turned-on, handsy mess right this minute, and it's very mutual.

If last night was eye-opening in plenty of ways, tonight is going to be _fucking brilliant_.

* * *

October 1, 2018: Monday evening  
4:34 pm

Since Linda's passing, Erin thinks, the whole family has regressed a little, reverted to old habits and patterns that are in need of re-examining through someone else's eyes.

Eddie shouldn't have had to see any of what went down last night, because things should never have devolved to that state. All the crap with Jamie and Dad goes back a long, long way, and she knows she's responsible for some of it, to her shame. Danny's never really going to change, but he does sometimes remember that she's not a third-grade radio-op in his combat unit that he can yell at into fixing the unfixable. Nearly losing Jamie last week has shaken up a vast amount of family guilt as well as memories of Joe, and the terror of another death.

So she's very glad to have an excuse to ask Jamie to drop by after work, so she can update him on the Matthews file, and see him with her own eyes. If he's still pissed and furious as he was last night, maybe she can get him to vent.

So his, "Hey, you," and gentle peck on her cheek take her aback.

"You seem better today," she says, as they walk towards her office.

"I am better today."

 _Ask me why_ , his grin seems to dare her.

He certainly looks better. He's relaxed and fit and _oh, brother_ , he's got that swagger she hasn't seen on him since the early days of Sydney. He's feeling mighty fine about himself in many ways. She immediately cancels any follow-up questions. She wants to get to know Eddie better. She doesn't need to know how Jamie and Eddie are getting to know each other better. She switches tracks to the case, instead.

Jamie's very pleased to hear that his stalling gambit paid off. By rolling back the murder charge and sticking with arson only, they were able to buy a little more investigation time.

Erin had managed to prove that Justin was acting under duress. The ex-Mrs. Arpell, now Linda Matthews, had been trying to prove for years that Sam Arpell was capable of paying more spousal and child support. She knew that Sam was hiding the proceeds from a rental building under an arms-length LLC.

Samuel Arpell, upstanding entrepreneurial paragon that he was, had pushed out nearly all the tenants, wanting only to sell up and pretend he'd never heard of the apartment block. When that failed, with two remaining holdout tenants making use of every arbitration loophole available, he gave up waiting. Sam was threatening to kill Linda, if Justin didn't torch the apartments and make it look like an ordinary household fire.

"That's duress," Jamie says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in legal glee, "Credible, immediate threat to a directly related third party, plus the power-over relationship. Justin can't be convicted of anything he does as a direct result of that particular threat. Not arson, not murder, not even manslaughter."

"Nope," Erin grins.

"I knew that kid was hiding something. Eddie knew it, too. We both went into him, but…he clammed right up. How'd you break the case?"

"We just got a confession."

She'd like to spill about Tony Abetemarco's superlative sleuthing and persuasive skills, and how he did almost all of the work on the Matthews case, but she already knows the suspicious glint Jamie would get within thirty seconds. Last month she honestly thought she and Jack were heading back together. She's managed to keep that from her family, who would be happy if Jack's name was never mentioned again.

Tony has never hidden his puppy crush on the boss, but she's always pretended for both their sakes that she's oblivious to it. Lately there's a change in the wind. Tony started it with his written warning to Jack to stay away from Erin and not to even think of hurting her. She didn't need saving, especially from Jack. She should have felt intruded upon and furious.

That's not at all what she felt.

She misses Monica. They were never really confidantes, but Monica would have given her opinion and solid advice. She's still barely put a dent in dealing with Monica's death, in her arms, only a couple of weeks ago. No wonder she's so grateful for Tony's solid reliability, his constant support. Maybe that's all it is.

 _Maybe that's all it takes?_

Jamie brings her back to reality with a surprisingly goofy fist-pump, as they turn the corner into her office corridor. "Nice work, Counsellor."

She takes a breath and prays for good timing. Jamie will either be receptive or shut down completely. Part of the gamble she's taking is that Jamie might actually have been thinking of his future as a dad recently, and might be a little more willing to put himself in their father's shoes.

It works.

They both know that Frank was never a perfect father. Nobody ever is. But to expect perfection out of a parent, that they will always know the right thing to say and do in every moment without the least lingering hurt – that's not realistic. And as they watch their grandfather aging before their eyes, they know their years with Frank, too, are numbered also. There's a time to accept that some annoying traits of even the most loving parents will never change. They are inherent and programmed in, just as Frank and Mary's stamp upon him will one day drive his kids crazy.

Frank's flat-out scared, and reaching for what he knows best to help him protect his kids, and that now includes Eddie. That's something Jamie can understand, she hopes.

She leaves him in her office to contemplate, while she takes the transcribed Ardell confession over to Tony's office for him to sign and date.

She's got plenty of people to run paperwork for her, but…she needs the exercise, or something.

* * *

 _To Possibly Be Continued?_


End file.
